


how to be a number four

by Kierkegarden



Series: undo me in your image (make me a middle ground) [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Choking, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Sex, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Oral Sex, Sobriety, very briefly mentioned Luther/Allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 07:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/pseuds/Kierkegarden
Summary: “Wait!” Klaus and his addict brain cried out in a harmony of desperation, “I’ll do anything! I’ll show you my scars! I’ll clean your room! I’ll give you a blowjob on the couch!”Luther turned around slowly.“You’ll...what? ”or Klaus needs a distraction to avoid using. Luther needs to get out of his head.





	how to be a number four

**Author's Note:**

> From the Kink Meme! A very uncharacteristic PWP from me -- a person who usually likes my porn with heavy plot. Obviously, read the tags, Dead Dove and all that. Enjoy!

It was like looking into a fun house mirror. For a moment, Klaus imagined himself as Number One and Luther leagues behind, in the fucked up race of their childhood. This is where Klaus the Addict would have bowed out _. There’s nothing you can do for him_ , said the little voice from the back of his head, the one that he was sure could outshout any sponsor. _It works if you work it, my ass._

But unlike matters of justice, good and evil, right and wrong, Klaus knew that look; the casual hunch of defeated shoulders over a bottle that didn’t seem to have a bottom. He was the expert here, after all, so what was the harm in offering a bit of brotherly advice?

“Oh, come on, Luther,” Klaus pushed back the stool beside him to sit, “This isn’t you.”

It was just the two of them now in that big skeleton of a house, with Pogo pattering around God knows where and everyone else off saving the world.

Luther barely raised his eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“What d’you mean?” Klaus felt himself go cold, “Of course it isn’t. You're Luther -- you're the star player. The leader, right? Number One?”

Every fiber of his old self was telling him to climb over the counter and pour himself a whiskey to match, or just call up his plug like a civilized person. If he could just out-talk that little voice, Klaus thought.

Luther’s voice was like gravel as he slammed his glass against the varnished wooden counter, “I’ll tell you what I mean. The old Luther was the kind of person who spent four years in solitude -- who _suffered_ for four years in solitude -- just to be the punch line of someone’s joke. Well the joke’s over, Klaus. Number One is dead.”

“C’mon, Luther, no he’s not, he’s right here, okay?” Klaus reached out to touch his shoulder, “He’s right in front of me. He just needs time to...heal. You’ll be back to normal after you get some sleep. I can run you a bubble bath. Sometimes I like to take...” Klaus trailed off as Luther pounded back the amber liquid. He took himself so damned seriously, even in his suffering. Klaus was never good at serious things.

“After you get high,” said Luther, suddenly, spinning around to look at him, “You like to take a bubble bath after you get high.”

 _Get out of there while you can,_ Klaus’s addict brain purred, _go find yourself something fun to smoke and take a nice bubble bath and quit trying to be altruistic_ . _He’ll straighten himself out by morning._

Except Klaus couldn’t say that for certain. He had never seen Luther so low.

“I’m sure a bubble bath would be twice as bubbly sober?”

“Show me where you get your fix and then you can run me a bath,” Luther’s eyes were hazy, as a heavy arm fell down around Klaus’s neck. He could smell the liquor, warm and spicy on Luther’s breath. “I want to be Number Four.”

Klaus laughed uneasily. “No, no you don’t. Nobody wants to be Number Four. You’re the leader, remember? We need you.”

In one clumsy motion, Luther slammed both hands down on the counter and propelled himself up, supporting his whole weight on the wood. It gave a despondent creak.

“I’ll find it myself then. You can’t stop me. Number One is dead.”

Luther staggered towards the door, his massive back an arching silhouette in the entryway.

“No no no!” Klaus called after him, scrambling to his feet. “Please stay! You’ve gotta stay, okay? I’ll teach you how to be Number Four here. We can both be Number Fours. It’ll be fun, okay?”

Luther made a snorting noise and reached for the doorknob.

“Wait!” Klaus and his addict brain cried out in a harmony of desperation, “I’ll do anything! I’ll show you my scars! I’ll clean your room! I’ll give you a blowjob on the couch!”

Luther turned around slowly.

“You’ll... _what?_ ”

That really was the question. Klaus had made similar offers in similarly desperate situations, of course. It wasn’t that strange -- except, of course, for the fact that he was making the offer to Luther. Stranger yet was the fact that Luther had turned around and was walking back towards him at a staggering pace.

 _He’s either going to be into it,_ thought Klaus, horrified, _or he’s going to throttle me._

“I’m really good at it,” he babbled, just to keep Luther’s attention, “Lots of experience, no teeth -- unless you’re into that. We could find out together. Take it nice and slow and find out what makes you tick.”

“Stop talking,” said Luther through his teeth. Klaus was still deciding whether Luther was angry or turned on when his huge gloved hands collided with his shoulders, pushing him towards the living room. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten his ass kicked by someone Luther’s size. Gazing steadily over his shoulder, Klaus tried to gauge the damage, his eyes settling on the outline of an erection under the fabric of his pants. He breathed a sigh of relief. The ball was back in his court of expertise.

 

“Lesson one,” Klaus whispered, when they had made it safely to the couch, “Number Fours don’t give a fuck about anything except what feels good.”

He positioned himself on Luther’s lap where the ever-growing hardness pressed warm against him. God, he could already feel how big Luther was through his pants. Klaus figured if he just kept babbling, he could draw it out just long enough that his brother would sober up and go to bed.

“Touch me,” Luther groaned, “Quit talking and just do it.”

Klaus put a fingertip to his lips.

“Nuh-uh. That’s Number One speaking. Number Fours understand the, er, beauty in waiting before a high. It’s called a tolerance break and I promise it makes it feel so much better.”

Luther looked dumbfounded.

“Sssh,” Klaus felt his own breath radiating against Luther’s neck. _It couldn’t hurt to grind on him,_ thought Klaus or the Addict Brain. At this point they were too intertwined to tell. Luther put his hand on the small of Klaus’s back, applying just enough pressure that it was a threat.

Klaus cleared his throat. “Lesson two. Nobody relies on you and you rely on no one but yourself.”

Sliding his fingertips lightly to remove Luther’s shirt, Klaus pressed his ass down, thrusting into Luther’s belly. He was rewarded by a thrum of sensation in his cock and a hiss in his ear.

“God,” he hissed back, unable to control himself, “Has anyone told you that you are absolutely huge? I can’t wait to see it. To be honest, I never understood why Allison kept up the secret relationship thing when she could have had anyone -- no offense -- but the sex, the sex must have been --”

Klaus was rewarded by a surprisingly tight grip around his throat. He could just _feel_ his pupils dilating as blood rushed to his cock. Luther must have noticed it too, his grip loosening as Klaus spluttered.

“Luther, God, _please_.”

“Do not talk about her.”

“-- _please,”_ said Klaus, a new desperation manifesting in his tone, “do that again.”

Awarding Klaus the same strength that he had used to choke him, Luther pushed him onto the floor below. Klaus eagerly leaned forward to tug at his zipper with his teeth. With little effort, he wrestled Luther free of his pants. He only let himself take a moment to admire him in his entirety. Klaus’s lips were mere inches from Luther’s cock, but his eyes were looking up at his face. It was hazy and flushed, and somehow almost more enticing.

“Pop quiz,” Klaus’s voice was throaty, “Do you want to kiss me before or after you throat fuck me senseless?”

“I’ll kiss you,” Luther positioned his hand in Klaus’s curls, right at the base of his neck, “When I can taste myself on your tongue.”

“Mm. That is filthy, L--”

He was cut off by the force of Luther’s cock being pushed between his lips. Opening himself to it, he did his best not to gag around his length as it forced itself down towards his throat. Luther was breathing heavily, pulling his head up and down by his hair and Klaus -- Klaus’s brain was shutting off.

He had heard before that people who were trying to sober up would turn to sex as an alternative, but had never understood until now. The bliss of being overfull, being _used_ , rattled him. Now, all he had to do was slurp and gag and keep his tongue at bay, as he became a warm hole for Luther to fuck himself in. It was never just about Luther, Klaus thought, as it finally dawned on him that maybe his addict brain was secretly a genius. He had never been this turned on in his life. Shakily, Klaus reached down to unbutton his pants and feel himself throbbing against his hand, where he was already leaking precum. He pumped in time to Luther’s thrusts, letting his thoughts become empty.

Klaus barely registered that Luther was coming until he was choking on it. He swallowed desperately, trying his best to get it all down. It was a choice between that and air -- and Klaus had made up his mind. When he was done, he gulped for breath, coughing. Even despite his efforts, the excess dribbled from his mouth. He opened his eyes slowly, half expecting to see Ben staring down at him, shaking his head. He gave a floaty sigh at what he saw instead.

There was sweat glistening all over Luther’s body hair, naked and utterly destroyed in the center of the living room. His eyes were shut, and his face still frozen in delirious rapture. Klaus pumped himself faster, teetering on the edge of climax, as Luther finally met his eyes.

“Oh _fuck,_ ” he whined, his release hitting him like a steamroller. It barrelled through him, as his consciousness jolted, electric, through his entire body. Like a high, Klaus thought, but totally lucid. Tears sprung to his eyes and Luther instinctively reached for him, lifting his shuddering body back on to the couch.

They lay there a moment, pressed tight against each other. Klaus wasn’t sure what was running through Luther’s mind but he could feel the other man’s body shaking behind him. He was crying, probably -- or just on the brink of it, which meant he must be sobering up.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Klaus whispered, leaning back to look at him, “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Luther had probably never had sex while drunk before -- had he ever had sex at all?

“I’m so sorry,” Luther said. His voice fell flat.

“No, no, no. Sshh. You were amazing. I’m sorry I...and while you were drunk…” Klaus trailed off.

Luther’s eyes brightened slightly, as he wiped them with the back of one hairy hand. “I was amazing?”

“Under the circumstances, of me being me, well, yes. I couldn’t have asked for better.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Luther shook his head, flushing. “I nearly choked you to death. Let’s get dressed.”

Klaus nuzzled his chest. “Kay. But you still owe me a kiss. And I’d like to just enjoy this for a second longer before it goes away forever, if that’s okay with you. Please?”

“You really thought I was amazing?”

Klaus shimmied up Luther’s body until their foreheads touched. Their breath mingled, a perfume of semen and liquor and sweat and cigarettes that made Klaus feel heady. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Luther’s and sharing his taste. His flaccid cock gave a half-hearted twitch against Klaus’s leg.

“Yes,” he said when they broke apart, “Amazingly so.”

Luther gently let him down, not making eye contact as he pulled his clothing back on, one article at a time. He was all dressed by the time he looked back at Klaus -- just for a moment -- and then down at the floor.

“You know, it doesn’t have to go away forever.”

“No?”

“I would be open to -- if you are, I mean -- only this time, with less whiskey and more privacy.”

Klaus clicked his tongue. “Sounds like something a Number One would say.”

“Good,” Luther straightened, puffing out his chest, “Because I am Number One.”

“I thought Number One was dead.”

"Maybe he is."

Klaus looked at him sideways.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Luther said, “that you’re sober enough to speak to dead people again.”

“Oh,” Klaus smiled, “Thanks for -- I mean yeah. I think so too."


End file.
